


Apologies

by Marvelite5Ever



Series: Short, unrelated Cablepool fics inspired by songs (these are NOT songfics) [1]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU, Inspired by the song "Hello" by Adele, M/M, Nate tries to apologize, one has a tragic ending, the other has a happy ending, two different versions of how the apology could go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Marvelite5Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate tried to apologize to Wade for everything that he'd done to him. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Novocaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we all wish that Nate could just swallow his pride and fucking apologize already, right? 
> 
> I got obsessed with song “Hello” by Adele, and then this happened. I actually had two different ideas for where to go with the inspiration, and I couldn't decide, so I wrote both. The first chapter is Version 1, and the second chapter is Version 2. They're basically different AU's where Nate apologizes, and have different outcomes. 
> 
> Along with being inspired by “Hello” by Adele, this first chapter is also partly inspired by the songs “Novocaine” by Fall Out Boy and “Kill All Your Friends” by My Chemical Romance. But mostly “Hello” by Adele. If you want to listen to a song while reading this chapter, listen to that one.

* * *

* * *

It had been eight years, nine months, and twenty-six days since Wade and Nathan had, essentially divorced. Broken up. Said _Farewell, fucker, may I never see thee again._ Whatever. 

It had been eight years, nine months, and twenty-four days since Wade had set foot in his New York City apartment—the one that was haunted forever by memories of Nate. Wade had kept paying the rent, just in case he needed the apartment sometime, but he'd had to leave because staying was too much. He couldn't look anywhere without seeing memories of Nate. 

It had been three years, nine months, and thirteen days since Wade had last seen Nate. They hadn't even spoken a word to each other—they'd locked gazes, for a moment, painfully, before Wade had looked away and thrown himself back into the thick of the apocalyptic battle, making sure to avoid Nate at all costs. 

It had been one year, seven months, and three days since Nate had died, sacrificing himself for the world. Again. 

But unlike all the other times he'd sacrificed himself for the world, Nate hadn't come back this time. 

Wade had attended the funeral, simply to see if he felt anything. (He'd felt mind-numbing pain—so, really, no different from usual.) 

Finally, one year, seven months, and three days since Nate had died, Wade entered the haunted apartment again. He hadn't wanted to, but he was in New York City on a mission, and he needed a place to lay low, change into a new costume that wasn't torn to pieces and covered in blood, and replenish the arsenal he carried with him. 

Entering the apartment through the window after climbing up the fire escape, Wade landed on the floor with uncharacteristic heaviness, panting. The apartment was so silent that he could hear his blood dripping onto the hardwood floor. 

He didn't turn on the lights—he didn't want to see Nate's face everywhere he looked. But as he was crossing past the coffee table, he saw the message light on the answering machine of the landline blinking. 

Huh. 

Curious, he pressed the Play Message button. 

3 years, 9 months ago: _“Hello, Wade. This is me. Nathan. I was…. Seeing you the other day reminded me that…. I…. Are you there? Wade?”_

3 years, 8 months ago: _“Hello. I know you didn't pick up last time… maybe you weren't there… and you haven't called me back, but… dammit!”_

3 years, 8 months ago: _“Hello, Wade. It's me… Nathan. Can we talk? Please?”_

3 years, 8 months ago: _“Hello, Wade… I… never mind.”_

3 years, 8 months ago: _“Hello. I just want to say…. Wade, are you there? You can't possibly never be home. Wade, please… I want to tell you that… dammit. I'm… I'm sorry, Wade.”_

3 years, 6 months ago: “Hello… Wade?”

3 years, 6 months ago: “Hello, Wade. It's me. I was wondering if… after all these years, you'd like to meet… to go over everything…. They say that time's supposed to heal you, but I… haven't done much healing.”

3 years, 2 months ago: “Hello. Wade, I…. Fuck.”

3 years, 2 months ago: _“Hello, Wade. How are you? It's so… typical… of me, to talk about myself. I'm sorry. I hope that you're well. Did you ever make it out of that…?”_

2 years, 11 months ago: _“Hello, can you hear me? Wade? I must've called you a thousand times. To tell you that… I'm sorry… for everything that I've done. But when I call, you never seem to be home…”_

2 years, 9 months ago: _“I'm sorry, Wade.”_

2 years, 7 months ago: _“Hello? Wade? Dammit, you're not answering again… This is the last time I'm calling you. I'm about to do something I don't think I'm going to be coming back from, and I… I wanted to talk to you, but…. At least I can say that I've tried… that I've tried to tell you I'm sorry, for breaking your heart. But it doesn't matter… it clearly doesn't tear you apart any more. Goodbye, Wade.”_

Sitting down heavily on the rotted old couch, Wade put his head in his blood-slick hands and tried not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the tragic-ending version. The next chapter is the happy-ending version ;3


	2. Nicotine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long with “Hello” by Adele, this second chapter is partly inspired by the songs “Nicotine” by Panic! At The Disco, “Love Me Again” by John Newman, and “Ultraviolence” by Lana Del Rey. If you want to listen to a song while reading this chapter, I'd say go with “Nicotine” by Panic! At The Disco, though. 
> 
> I'm kind of obsessed with music. It's a thing. 
> 
> Also, for this chapter I might've gotten some inspiration from _Deadpool & Cable: Split Second #2_, as well, hehe.

* * *

* * *

Wade wasn't surprised when he received a call from Nate nearly six years after the time-traveler had disappeared into the future to save the world from something or other (or, possibly equally as likely, to escape from the time period after he'd broken up with Wade). 

What _did_ surprise him was Nate's tone, and what he said. 

As the answering machine crackled with the telepathekenetic's voice, Wade sat on his couch, gripping the armrest so hard that the scars stood out, stark and dark and red, against his white knuckles. 

Right, here it came—the 'The world is going to end and it is of critical importance that you help me because the fate of the world depends on it and only you have the special skills needed for this mission!' speech. 

_“Hello, Wade. This is me. Nathan.”_

The gun was in Wade's hand and a bullet through his heart simply as a reflex at the pain of hearing Nate's voice again. 

_“I was…. Are you there? Wade?”_ And then there was a sigh, and Nate hung up. 

What the fuck? Okay, whatever, the world wasn't ending so Wade didn't need to call him back. 

Wade coughed up blood and made a mental note to himself to be extra clandestine on any missions that might cause him to encounter the stupid messiah-complex soldier from the future. 

The second time Nathan called, Wade had been napping. He woke with a start, a gun aimed straight at the voice that was—the phone. He was pointing a gun at the phone. 

_“Hello. I know you didn't pick up last time… maybe you weren't there… and you haven't called me back, but…”_ a hiss of breath. _“Dammit!”_

And then the sound of Nate hanging up. 

Wade slowly lowered the gun, frowning at the phone as if it was playing tricks on him.

The third time Nate called him, Wade tensed, stock still. 

_“Hello, Wade. It's me… Nathan. Can we talk? Please?”_

Ten minutes after Nate had hung up, and Wade still hadn't moved a muscle. He only moved when his nose started itching so bad he had to scratch it, snapping him out of the shock. Still, he figured he'd just set his own personal record for Longest Length of Time Spent Completely Still and _Silent,_ To Boot.

The fourth time Nate called, Wade's fingers twitched, as if they'd considered reaching for the phone, but then Wade's mind stilled them. 

_“Hello, Wade… I… never mind.”_

To punish his fingers for their thoughts of betrayal, Wade cut them off. 

The fifth time Nate called, Wade was sure he was hallucinating. 

_“Hello. I just want to say…. Wade, are you there? You can't possibly never be home. Wade, please… I want to tell you that… dammit. I'm… I'm sorry, Wade.”_

Yeah, there was absolutely _no way_ that Nate would apologize. Nate didn't apologize. What did he have to apologize for, anyway? Wade understood why Nate had left him. Perhaps Nate's parting words were a little harsher than they could have been, but Wade understood. 

He was ugly, broken, insane, annoying, immoral, and affected with suicidal and murderous tendencies. The only thing he didn't understand was why it had taken Nate an entire year and a half of being with him to leave him. Or even why Nate had fallen in love with him in the first place, because Nate was Nate, wannabe-messiah princess from the future who wanted nothing more than to save the world from itself, and he deserved someone so much better—someone smart, at the very least, and pretty. Someone Nate didn't have to babysit to make sure they didn't kill someone. Someone Nate could be proud to be with, proud to love, proud to show off. 

So it surprised the hell out of him when Nate called for a _sixth_ time. 

_“Hello… Wade?”_

And that was it. Huh. Maybe Nate was just a lonely bastard at the moment. Maybe he kept getting himself drunk or something, and went into those weird maudlin periods where he debated his past, which was sometimes the future, and it was weird and confusing as hell. So Wade tried to just brush the calls off and forget about them. Surely they were mistakes. 

The seventh time Nate called, Wade's mind was blown. 

_“Hello, Wade. It's me. I was wondering if… after all these years, you'd like to meet… to go over everything…. They say that time's supposed to heal you, but… I haven't done much healing.”_

Literally mind-blown—after hearing that, Wade had blown his own fucking brains out. 

The eighth time Nate called, Wade laughed so hard he cried. 

_“Hello. Wade, I…. Fuck.”_

Ah, Nate. Always so eloquent. 

The ninth time Nate called, Wade wasn't home. He was out on a mission. He didn't hear it till he listened to his answer machine several days later. 

_“Hello, Wade. How are you? It's so… typical… of me, to talk about myself. I'm sorry. I hope that you're well. Did you ever make it out of that…?”_

Make it out of that what? And why the hell should Nate care, anyway? He was the one who had said that he never wanted anything to do with Wade again. 

Wade nearly threw the phone against the wall after that message. Good thing his self-control was phenomenal. _Clients_ called him on that phone, and he _needed_ the jobs. 

The tenth time Nate called, Wade jumped out of his window as soon as he heard Nate say 'Hello,' and he didn't come back for weeks, taking every mission that came his way and even some that he had to go out of his way to get, killing to keep himself busy, killing to make himself forget, killing to keep himself from dreading. 

But he had to return, eventually, and when he did, there were two messages from Nate waiting for him. 

_“Hello, can you hear me? Wade? I must've called you a thousand times. To tell you that… I'm sorry… for everything that I've done. But when I call, you never seem to be home…”_

_“I'm sorry, Wade. And I… I miss you.”_

Wade cut out his heart, keeping a hand pressed inside his chest so his body wouldn't regrow a new one, and stared at the organ it until it stopped beating, counting the seconds. Then he stuck it back inside his chest and counted the seconds it took for his chest to heal and the dead heart to start beating again. 

He tried to determine when, in the entire process, he'd felt the least amount of pain. 

But when he came to the realization of what hurt the most, the answer was _hope._

The twelfth time Nate called, Wade was home, sitting on the couch and watching TV, like he usually did when he wasn't off killing. 

He turned off the TV when he heard Nate's voice, shifting his gaze to the phone. His fingers gripped the couch tightly. 

_“Hello? Wade? Dammit, you're not answering again… This is the last time I'm calling you, I swear. The last time. I… I wanted to talk to you, but…. At least I can say that I've tried… that I've tried to tell you I'm sorry, for breaking your heart. But it doesn't matter… it clearly doesn't tear you apart any more.”_

Nate waited a few moments, just breathing, as if he were bracing himself for some big, important decision, and then he hung up. 

Wade stared at the phone with stinging eyes. “Doesn't tear me apart anymore, huh?” he said, and laughed.

Nate had said that that was the last time, so Wade hadn't expected him to call again. Obviously, Nate had come to the right conclusion, that they were _over,_ and that he should just fucking move on already and stop torturing Wade with reminders of what they'd had and how it had ended. 

And then, six months later, Nate called for a _thirteenth_ time. 

Wade had just returned from a mission, suit tattered and dripping with water as he clambered in through the window, out of the pouring rain and into his apartment, tossing his dismembered right arm to the ground in annoyance. 

Picking up his arm and starting to hold it against his the torn flesh of his shoulder, he was on his way to the bathroom to take a shower when the phone rang. Wade paused mid-step as he heard Nate's voice. 

_“Hello, Wade. I know I said that I wouldn't call again, but… I just…”_ a dry laugh. _“I'd kill just to hear your voice again. I've missed you, Wade. I wish I could quite you, but you're worse than nicotine. I can't stop thinking about you… can't stop missing you. And I… I was wrong to treat you that way, and it hasn't stopped haunting me. I know it's too late for our relationship, and I'm not asking you to…. I just… want to hear from you. I want to hear your voice. I want to hear that you're okay. Wade? Are you there? Please…”_

Wade had bounded across the room, dropped his arm and picked up the phone before his mind had caught up with what his body was doing. “Heya, Nate,” he said, slightly breathless. 

_“Wade?”_ Nate asked, too fast, too disbelieving, too hopeful, too pleased. 

“Yeah, Priscilla, it's me,” Wade said with a breathless laugh. “Man, your self-control _sucks._ This is the thirteenth time you've called me in, like, a year, and only six months ago you said you'd never call me again.”

 _“I… didn't actually expect you to pick up,”_ Nate admitted, and he sounded a little breathless, too. _“I had hoped, but...”_

“Now you don't know what to say, huh?” Wade guessed, a smirk on his face that was only partly amused as he crouched down to pick up his arm, standing up again. “And please, don't apologize again. Hearing it from you five times was too much already.”

 _“It's good to hear your voice again, Wade,”_ Nate said, and he sounded way too fucking sincere. _“How are you?”_

“Fine,” Wade said, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he held his severed arm to the raw flesh of his shoulder, waiting for it to heal together enough that he could let go. “I'm fine…” Dismembered limbs always hurt most when the nerves were reattaching themselves. 

_“I'm glad,”_ Nate said, sounding genuine enough about it even as he echoed Wade's uncertain tone. 

“How are you?” Wade asked, trying to wiggle his right fingers. Nope, arm not quite in working order yet. 

A pause. _“...Alright,”_ Nate said in a way that suggested otherwise. _“Do you…”_ another pause, and Wade could imagine Nate licking his lips to wet them before speaking again, at the same time too hopeful and too brace for disappointment, _“want to meet?”_

“Sure,” Wade said. “Yeah.” He accidentally let go of his arm (he was all wet—his grip slipped!) and the tenuously reattached bits of flesh ripped, the arm falling to the ground with a wet _thumph!_

 _“Shit,”_ Wade hissed, crouching back down to pick up the arm again. 

_“...What was that?”_ Nate asked slowly. 

“I just, ah,” Wade said, keeping the phone pinned to his left shoulder as he held his right arm to the broken socket, ignoring the pain as the nerves and other fleshy bits began reattaching again, “dropped something, s'all.”

 _“Did that something happen to be your arm?”_ Nate asked, tone flat. 

“I was fighting werewolves!” Wade said defensively. “I'm lucky that I even saved the arm, and that I'm not growing a completely new one! Which would be a shame—I have such good memories with my cinema hand.” 

A pause. _“When and where would you like to meet?”_ Nate asked, letting the topic of the dismembered arm go. 

“Anywhere, anytime?” Wade asked, trying to wiggle his right fingers. They twitched slightly. 

_“Anywhere you want, but preferably sooner rather than later,”_ Nate said.

“You want to see me that badly, huh?” Wade asked, wiggling his right fingers, bending his right elbow. 

_“You have no idea,”_ Nate said, too passionately. 

Wade barked a laugh as he let go of his right shoulder, unclenching the phone from his between his ear and shoulder to hold it again, twirling the phone cord with his other hand. “My time is pretty booked up—I'm reaaaally popular, you know—but I do have some time this Friday. One o'clock, that large park that's the nearest one to my apartment that I can never remember the name of. That work for you?”

 _“That works,”_ Nate said. _“How will I find you?”_

“You won't,” Wade said, chuckling darkly to himself. _“I'll_ find _you.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Nate said, after a moment. 

Wade hummed, looking at the puddle trail of bloodied water he'd left on the floor. “Goodbyes are awkward, so let's skip this one.” 

He hung up, stared at the phone for a moment, a sound bubbling up in his throat that felt like laughter's forsaken and abused twin.

* * *

_**~Four days later, Friday, 1:05 M, that park that Wade can never remember the name of~** _

* * *

Wade found Nate sitting on a park bench, wearing a long brown trenchcoat with the collar tilted up to hide the metal that formed the left side of his neck and disappeared beneath white hair. He was wearing dark sunglasses and had his hands in his pockets, probably wearing gloves. 

It was autumn, the weather getting steadily colder towards winter—the best season for anyone with part of their appearance to hide—and a chilly wind nipped at what little of Wade's sensitive skin was open to the air. He was wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over a baseball cap, gloved hands stuffed in the hoody pocket. 

Sidling silently up behind Nate, Wade leaned in to breath into his ear: “Boo.” 

To Nate's credit, he didn't even flinch (but it was all he could do not to shiver). “Hello, Wade,” he said, and Wade saw his perfect lips twitch upwards at the corners. 

“Let's go somewhere a little more private, eh?” Wade asked, taking a step back and turning, walking out onto the grass toward the trees, the autumn leaves—red, orange, yellow, green—still blanketed the trees. Leaves pirouetted in the air and tumbled along the ground, crunching beneath Wade's sneakers and Nate's combat boots. 

Wade never looked back to make sure Nate was following him—he knew he was. 

He stopped when they were out of seeing and hearing distance of the main path. He finally turned to look at Nate, who was standing there, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, making the air pressed behind stick up in a way that shouldn't have been so cute. 

Nate's eyes—left eye blue and scarred, right eye blank and flawless—met Wade's after giving his body a once-over (probably as much to look for hidden weapons as to admire Wade's fantastic bod). Nate's face was hard to read, but his voice was achingly genuine when he said, again, “I'm sorry, Wade. For how I treated you.” 

Wade scowled at him, face still in shadows from his hood and baseball cap, the long afternoon sunlight barely able to lick the tip of his nose. “I told you not to apologize again.” 

“I wanted to tell you in person,” Nate said, trying to hold Wade's shadowed gaze. “I wanted you to see how much I mean it.” 

“Is that the only reason you wanted to see me?” Wade asked, and he couldn't keep all the bitterness out of his tone. 

“No,” Nate said, “it wasn't. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to know if I really am still in love with you.” 

At least Nate was being honest. 

“And?” Wade asked, raising hairless eyebrows in the shadows. 

Nate's eyes never left the mercenary's face as he said, with painful honesty: “I love you so much it _hurts.”_

Wade barked a surprised laugh, fists clenching in the pocket of his hoody. “You sure that pain isn't just from you getting health problems in your old age, wise man?” 

Nate's lips quirked. “I'm not that old. And not that wise, either.” 

“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that first one,” Wade snorted, looking down at his shoes, one of which seemed to be pushing fallen leaves around. Huh. Wonder where the shoe got that idea. Wasn't his foot supposed to be the one doing the driving? “As for the second—I'm surprised you found that much introspection and self-awareness in the seven years since we last talked. Although,” he glanced back up at Nate, “you _do_ age gracefully. Don't look all of seven years older.” 

“I need to know…” Nate said, watching him with some expression that seemed to be either hope, or wariness. It was hard to tell. “Do you think you could ever love me again?” 

Wade laughed again, wryly. “Love you again?” 

Nate flinched at his harsh tone. 

“Nate,” Wade said, looking up at from beneath a veil of shadows, grin skewed, “I never stopped.” 

Nate looked at him in surprise. “Then why did you never pick up or call back?” 

Wade shrugged, looking down again. Huh. His shoe sure had been busy clearing the leaves from the space directly in front of him. “At first I thought you wanted something from me. And then I thought that you'd convince me to come back from you, and that you'd just break my heart again.” Wade watched as his shoe made a wall out of the cleared leaves. “And then you apologized, and I thought that you'd been taken over by an alien or something, because the Nate I remember would never have apologized.” 

“A lot has happened since we were together,” Nate said, quietly. “I've… reevaluated… my priorities in life.” 

“And I haven't reevaluated any priorities!” Wade said with a forced cheer, looking back up at the mutant and grinning. “Murder, money, and an occasional pro bono hero work to satisfy what little scraps of conscience I have that like to make themselves heard every once and a while. I _might've_ gotten a little crazier, though who can trust the crazy dude to know how crazy he is, yeah? But,” he tapped the side of his hood with a gloved hand, “you know I got two voices in my head, now? Yellow says Hi, by the way. White says to go fuck yourself.” 

A pause, and Wade snickered. “Yellow says that if you do, to let us watch, because that would be kinda hot.” Another pause, and then: “White just amended his response to you to being 'go grow a beard and become old and lame and unpopular.'” 

“…” Nate said, watching him with an unreadable expression. 

“Yeah,” Wade agreed, hands shoving deep into his pocket. “I wouldn't know what to say to that, either, if I were you. As it is, I'm me, and I'm not even sure what to say to that. Sometimes even I can't make sense of what's inside my head—figuratively, I mean, cuz I understand that my head is technically filled with white and gray brainmatter and whatever. I mean, I've seen it enough times. It was kinda surprising the first few times that my brain wasn't completely eaten by tumors or whatever. Like, I couldn't see the tumors, y'know? I thought I might've, but nope.”

“…” Nate said, still watching him silently. 

Wade laughed nervously. “Well, this is awkward, huh?” he said, not looking at Nate. 

Oh hey, look! His foot was kicking down the leave walls it had spent so much effort building up! Hopefully that wasn't a metaphor for anything. 

“Kinda makes one wish that aliens would descend from the sky and start trying to take over New York, don't it?” Wade said, sounding wistful. 

“Something like that,” Nate agreed mildly. “Our relationship always did feel the most comfortable when we were fighting.” 

“Ha!” Wade said, grinning slightly. “Yeah, I guess it did, didn't it? Heh. Maybe we should fight this out, then.” He glanced up at Nate, smirking, removing his hands from his pockets and crack his knuckles. “Make sure you didn't get too old and lose your edge.” 

Nate raised his white eyebrows, lips quirking. “Challenge accepted,” he said, pulling his own gloved hands out of his pockets, removing his coat and folding it, setting it down nicely on the grass. He took off his gloves, placing them nicely on top of the pile. 

He was wearing army-green cargo pants and a white t-shirt that, when he straightened, was tight enough to show off his huge arms, well-developed pecs, and washboard abs. The silver of his left neck and arm glinted brightly, and the autumn sunlight made his white hair glow to match the light of his left eye. 

“Well?” Nate asked, waiting. 

Another moment of procrastination, and then Wade turned away, removing his hat and shucking off his red sweatshirt, tossing them both to the ground. Dammit, he shouldn't have only worn a black muscle shirt underneath. 

Wade turned around and caught Nate's eyes roving over his chest, hungrily. 

“Well?” Wade asked, crossing his bare, marred arms, raising his eyebrows impatiently. 

Nate's gaze lingered on his arms for a moment, before traveling back up to his face. Nate smirked. “You haven't aged a day, Wade.” 

Wade punched him, and it felt like a kiss—left them both feeling warm and tingly.

And then they were in motion, fists and knees and elbows and feet all lashing out with snake-like speed and precision, unrestrained power. 

Nate's metal fist passed through where Wade's face had been a moment before, and Wade grabbed his arm and used the momentum of the punch to flip Nate over his shoulder so that Nate landed on his back with an grunt. 

“I forgot… how fast you are...” Nate said, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. 

“You're getting old and slow, big guy,” Wade drawled, hovering a few feet away. “And was it just me, or were you holding back? Because I hope you were holding back. That would've been really sad, otherwise.” 

Nate looked up at him and smirked. “I was just getting warmed up. And now the kiddie gloves are coming off.” 

“Kiddie gloves?!” Wade said indignantly, crossing his arms. “Dude, give me your ultraviolence.” 

Nate was swiftly back on his feet and putting Wade on the defensive, and there was a _reason_ that the time-displaced soldier had lived as long as he had (aside from the occasional death here and there) while entering into violent conflicts throughout the ages. 

But there was also a reason why Wade was one of the deadliest mercenaries alive (or dead). And the thrill of being so evenly matched was evident on both their faces, despite bloodied lips and bloodied noses, despite bruises that would last on Nate for days and on Wade for a few minutes. 

“When are those kiddie gloves coming all the way off, huh?” Wade asked, flipping over Nate and landing in a spin that ended in a roundhouse kick that— 

Never connected with Nate's chest. 

The mutant had turned to face him, and was wearing a shit-eating grin as he held Wade frozen with telekenesis. “That,” Nate said, “is the kiddie gloves all the way off.” 

“Didn't realize you'd gotten your TK back,” Wade said, eyebrows raised as Nate released the telekenetic hold on him. “Man, your powers are finicky as _hell._ I bet you had them off and on like fifty times throughout the past seven years, didn't you?” 

“Something like that,” Nate agreed, advancing. 

Wade backed up until his back hit a tree, Nate's hands on his shoulders, keeping him there. 

“Got you,” Wade said, a gun pressed up beneath Nate's chin. 

“I know,” Nate said, smiling, eyes dark. He leaned forward and kissed Wade, the gun still in position to blow his brains out. 

The kiss felt like a punch—left them breathless and seeing stars. 

“I haven't…” Nate said, licking his lips, watching Wade's face with a desperate kind of awe. “Nothing has felt this right in a long time.” 

Wade growled, moving his arms around Nate's neck so that the gun was now pressed against his temple. “Shut up and kiss me again, ya putz.”

Nathan eagerly did so, a thigh moving between Wade's legs, making the mercenary gasp. Nate slipped his tongue into Wade's mouth, chuckling into the kiss when Wade responded so eagerly that their teeth clashed. 

“I'd like to be yours,” Nate said when they parted, gasping. Nate rested his forehead against Wade's and their breaths intermingled. “If you'll have me again. I'd like you to be mine.” 

Wade laughed, and Nate opened his eyes to watch him, questioningly. 

“Your love's a fucking _drag_ , Nate,” Wade said, and Nate's face fell. He tried to pull away, but Wade's grip tightened in his air, and the gun pressed against his temple, making sure its presence was still known. “But I need it so bad,” Wade murmured, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch Nate's expressions. “You leave behind a hole too large to be filled with TV, death and violence. Or anyone else, for that matter. Goddamn it, Nate, why do you have to be so fucking _huge?_ Left a hole bigger than I am—but it still had to fit inside me, so it had to get all condensed, like a supermassive black hole, or whatever. Felt like I was imploding in on myself, some nights.” 

And then Nate was pressing closer again, lips interlocking with Wade's in a slow, relaxed kiss, no longer rushing now that they had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
